


Pride

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Gay, Gay Pride, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pink Hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11078913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: It took a long time for Hanzo Shimada to live 'out and proud'. // A piece for Gay Pride Month. A special bit of love to Gilbert Baker, whose 66th birthday would have been today. He passed away this March, and is best known for creating the rainbow flag that is now ubiquitous with the LGBTQ+ community. Remember Stonewall.





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> As a bi/pan sapiosexual and trans individual myself, I'm a big one for pushing gay pride and the like. I've been really big on #McHanzo lately, and I always feel like Jesse is just so... bold and out there (bless his switchy, bi ass) that I feel like he really pulled Hanzo out of his Family-imposed (and self-perpetuating) shell. So it felt appropriate to tap him for a piece like this.
> 
> I hope you guys like it! It references a lot of things in other stories, but you don't have to read those first.
> 
> PINK HANZO is a theme in my writing - he likes lychee candies and strawberry shortcake frappuccinos and cherry garcia ice cream and sakura and indulges in pink (even more than Jesse has a weakness for lavendar) as his own indulgence of his feminine side. It's subtle, but I like it. "Jack Rabbit" especially. And the jellybeans is a direct lift from Matthew Mercer, the amazing, wonderful, crazy-talented and completely kind, good-hearted (evil) man who voices McCree. "The two things dearest to his heart are Hanzo and jelly beans." Mercer is a huge advocate for #McHanzo and an avid lover of jelly beans himself. If you don't know about Critical Role, do yourself a favor and YouTube "To the Poop!". You're welcome.

It took a long time for Hanzo Shimada to live 'out and proud'. Despite knowing since his youth that he had proclivities towards men, he had swallowed a lot of it down for familial obligations, like learning to be the Master of the Shimada clan and fathering sons that would carry on the name. It took him time to find pleasure in the female form, but in time he had learned to do so with begrudging respect and even found a bride with which to fulfill his duties.

His brother took to women with gusto, bedding many, and often within the Shimada Castle walls. When their father died and Hanzo was asked to step up to the plate and lead the Clan, it was with the condition that he put an end to his brother's reckless rebellions. It was a sin he carried with him a long time, along with the wrath of the Shimada elders, a dynasty shattered, a castle without a Master. He wandered a long time, feeling like a ghost on the wind, hunted prey, hungry for home and shelter and security that he did not think he would ever have again.

And then Genji found him. Forgiveness was offered, an olive branch that he did not find himself worthy of... And yet, with nowhere else to wander to, he followed his brother's trail to Overwatch and begrudgingly joined.

It was there he met Jesse McCree. A brash, boorish, vulgar man who was bigger than life and louder than hurricanes. His booming laugh could flood a room and he rained sweet nothings on anyone he met with abandon. He flirted shamelessly and had a reputation of following through at his leisure. There were tales of him being like Genji, taking home girls (and sometimes even boys) and sneaking them in and out of his quarters, sometimes being caught in hilarious stories that his crew mates would share over a drink, years later. But there was also footnotes in those anecdotes, a heartbreak and a love that couldn't withstand the pressures of the job that drove him to such desperate pursuits, and a whimsical nostalgia attached to the stories that suggested they were behind him.

Maybe right behind him, but behind him.

"Have you been told today?"

He has a ridiculous game he likes to play with anyone who will let him. A teasing purr, an innocent, but clearly not, question that would segue into a compliment, often lewd and heavy handed, but it brought joy and a much needed blush to the receiving party. Some chose not to play this game, while others relished the affection.

Hanzo Shimada had been caught off guard the first time he'd heard it. He hadn't expected the cock to the cowboy's hips, the way he purred and lenghthened out his already fairly stunning drawl, the well-placed explicative and roving eye. It hadn't felt like a joke, or a game. It had set a flame in him that he had forgotten about.

That was when he knew that he wanted to be a notch on this Cowboy Casanova's belt.

It took weeks and months of dancing around the topic, dropping hints and exchanging jibes and suggestions and flirtations. There was a strut to his hips when he got to talking about anything of a suggestive nature, a smirk in his lips, a lower pitch to his drawl. Everything was darling, honey, sweetheart, baby cakes, and each of them were as sweet as the syrup he called tea. He would make a joke, 'Come on now', and then strut off, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything, but then there'd be that last backwards glance, eyes shining with a question, a little frown to his brow that said he was puzzling. Hanzo liked that little doubtful frown even more than his wide smiles, belly-hearted laughter or big, broad hugs.

The cowboy touched him less. The playful nudges and arm slings and shoulder claps and hip bumps he did with almost anyone seemed to stop. When they were in the same room with someone else, he would change the subject, be on the other side of a counter. He would keep his distance, watch sideways, stick his giant hands -- one metal and one stocky and hairy -- into the pockets of his worn jeans. The spurs would jingle as he kicked the dirt with his creaking leather boots. His eyes would dart away and his fingers would tug at his hat.

That was when Hanzo realized that maybe the cowboy was a very good liar. He boasted and flirted and danced, but the part of him that would touch another was cold from disuse. The part of him that would open his heart was fearful, and wary. As he started to listen, he realized that Jesse McCree did not speak of the past for longer than was necessary, spoke in vague 'I had a mission once where we did somethin' similar' or 'I had a buddy who used to do this thing' or 'Sure, I been there before, nice place.' There were shadows of characters in his narrative, someone in the past that he did not name, and they were never the focus. He mentioned his mama three times in passing, twice in jest, like 'Hey, my mama didn't raise no fool' or 'My mama made some pretty babies, yeah?'

Hanzo took the time to read his file, and was surprised at how sparse it was for a man that people spoke so highly of. Then he caught a whiff of red tape and sweet talked Lucio and Athena into a clearance for some of the blacker files. He managed it, and yet there were still more files that he couldn't read. The ones he did spoke of commandeering vessels and operatives and informants, intel 'extractions' and project 'terminations' that were more codeword than personnel. Wetwork and torture and assassinations and piracy. He barely squeaked in with a high enough clearance to find the file where he lost his arm, part of an 6-man party to retrieve 'intel' and an informant. They even marked where he had been put on medical leave for almost four months after, and then reinstated on light-duty for a few more. The files after that were open Overwatch files. Where he was listed as 'tactical defense' instead of offense. There was a sniper rifle commendation in there, too. An honorary mention in a sniper competition that he took part in with an agent Lacroix (now deceased) and Ana Amari, who was still with Overwatch. Jesse came in third, but was given an award for 'Most Improved'.

He hadn't meant to witness the man slip into the medical bay once -- going for his own check up, but too quiet for the cowboy to notice, all spurs and jangling belt buckle -- nor had he meant to eavesdrop. He was merely intending to wait until their conversation was done and not interrupt.

It was not his fault that Jesse McCree was so loud.

"Doc, you gotta help me. This thing is killing me."

A soft sigh. "The pain again?"

"I can't sleep," he answered, his voice desperate, croaking. "It's been three days now."

She cursed softly in her own language. "Jesse, why didn't you come sooner?"

"Drink ain't helpin'," he added. "I need somethin'."

"You need a _repair_  is what you need."

"Come on, Angie. I got a mission in two days, I can't go down like that."

She sighed. "Fine." Hanzo debated hiding, not wanting the cowboy to know he had witnessed his pain, listening to her shuffle in the drawer. "Take two of these. TWO. Not two and a half, not three--"

"Yeah yeah, two, got it." The rattle of pills.

"Before bed, WITH a full meal. You'll make yourself sick. Set aside 8 hours."

"Yeah, sure." There was a bite of doubt to his words. "I get four, I'd be happy."

"And I'm scheduling you for a surgery as soon as you get back. As SOON as you get back."

"Alright," he conceded. "Alright. We show up a night early, I'm sleepin' here. I get it."

"And here... Did you have lunch yet?"

"Yeah. Uh... Reinhardt made stew."

"Good. This is a topical."

The little moan he made was sinful, and Hanzo shuddered. "Doc, you're a wonder. I could kiss ya."

She snorted. "You lost that chance, cowboy."

"Yeah, but you're so pretty when you patch me up."

" _Sleep,_ Jesse. You go to that mission without rest and you won't come back."

Hanzo ducked around the corner, face on fire. "You're an angel..." he sang.

"Sleep!"

He listened to the cowboy give a low sigh to himself, a drag to his steps. When he came around the corner to watch him go, he looked weary, hat tucked low. Flexing his left arm.

That was when Hanzo wanted to do more than bed him. He wanted to hold him at night and fight away the pain. To exhaust him to sleep, to chide him for not eating, to make sure his drink didn't overtake him. He saw a broken man, a clever liar, a heartbroken fool who put on his hat and his smile and his drawl and went out of his way to help others and make them feel better while he was dying alone in the dark.

That might even be the moment he fell in love.

Hanzo gave the first kiss, drunk and alone with him. There was doubt in the cowboy's eyes, his own sabotage blaming the drink for the undeserved pleasure. When that was proven false, their first coupling was drunken fondling, wandering hands and gasping mouths. They had been sparing and heartfelt, but one or the other would slip away early in the morning and pretend it didn't happen the next day. The "Told" compliments got sweeter, and subversive. Hanzo returned the favor, and relished the way his already ruddy skin turned redder with wicked thoughts. They started sitting next to each other in debrief meetings, movie nights, communal meals. They would 'happen' to meet up at the same range at the same time and train together. Some were arranged in passing comments ("Man, I could use some shootin' time. I might go after dinner... Range 3 is usually quiet.") and others with intention ("I signed up for the grocery run Tuesday. Wanna join me?") and conversations bounced around the usual topics - food preferences (Jesse had a peculiar addiction to Jelly Beans and a treat from back home called Moon Pies, while Hanzo could never say no to mochi or boba), movies (Hanzo talked about watching Godzilla with his brother as a child and playing kaiju in the garden, to the frustration of the gardener; Jesse started to note any time the thing he'd said was a quote, like his repeated theme of 'There are two kinds of people in the world...'), kinks (and really, Hanzo learned more about himself than he thought he would, just by having a partner with such a breadth of experience and absolutely no filter as to what was 'appropriate' or not).

He'd thought they were being discreet, that no one had noticed. He wore stolen t-shirts to bed on the rare nights he stayed in his own quarters, mewling to the dark why his cowboy was abroad on a mission without him there to watch his back, to steal kisses, to feel those warm hands on his skin, to shower his ears with that drawl and sweet words. He hadn't expected his brother to knock on his door one afternoon, curled in his blanket like a hibernating beast, sipping his tea.

"[What?]" he bleated, a miserable billy goat. That's what Jesse called him, scaling the walls.

"Oniisan! Let's go shopping."

"Oro? Shopping? Come in! Is not locked." Maybe it was hot sake, not tea.

The door switched open. "Oniisan!" And then he stopped, looking around the room. Uncharacteristically a mess. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he replied, scowling. "That is the problem." He finished his small cup. "What do you mean shopping?"

"Jesse-san's birthday is coming up. I want to get him something while he's out of town. Get it early. Last two weeks before, he starts watching everyone like a hawk. Especially you, Oniisan. He'll watch you the most."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes at his brother, not understanding. But he clucked and fussed and shooed him out, clutching his cowboy's shirt under his yukata. He changed out of it, reluctantly, and stepped out with his brother.

He had not anticipated that their relationship was not so much a secret. A blush rising to his cheeks when Genji relayed a suspicious bookmark in the cowboy's possession that he had realized was his own brother's stolen hair ribbon (mysteriously misplaced). That, coupled with quiet conversations that featured big smiles, lingering eyes and wiggling eyebrows, it was not so discreet as they had thought. Reeling from the revelation that his own brother knew (and of course he would, why woudn't he? He'd known Hanzo since childhood, and Jesse since Blackwatch. Of course he would), Hanzo listened with rapt attention as he went through a list of things the cowboy favored, subtle preferences like soft purples (on others, not himself. He preferred to wear red and yellow and brown) and silky textures ("I'm sure you knew that one, though, given you wear your kimonos all the time") and he walked him through some country music, finding an album by an artist he liked that had come out recently, a huge sack of jelly beans, and a couple hair ribbons for Hanzo to lose in Jesse's room.

"You may also want to ask Winston about getting you two a bigger quarters to share," he added, decidedly not looking at his brother, sipping on a strawberry shortcake frappuccino.

Hanzo blushed. "I don't know if I want to make it... an announcement or anything. People would notice that."

He wished he could decipher his brother's expression through the steel and red eyes. "Suit yourself."

It was true -- as August came to a close, Jesse became insufferable, dropping hints at dinner about his birthday coming up, encouraging people to plot something extravagant for him. If he caught someone alone, they would be tormented with, 'So, whatcha gon get me?' which was answered with protests and playful punches or lies and teasing. Hanzo 'confessed' he did not know yet, and he was not worried about it. He would pointedly check the comings and goings of the base and note that Hanzo had yet to leave base to get anything. 'Perhaps it is in the mail,' he offered, as if he did not already have it stashed in his brother's room. That left Jesse sour, but in good fun.

Hanzo wondered how such a big man could also be such a child. It had annoyed him when they'd first met, his immaturity. Now he knew it was a ruse, a play on the theme. He liked people to underestimate him, and it was a big part of his persona. But his years alone meant he'd spent many a holiday, birthday and festival alone, watching from the fringe, taking in the sights but unable to participate. He overcompensated, now that he had an Overwatch 'family' to annoy. It was heartbreaking, and touching at the same time.

They had shared their first public kiss there in the dining hall, when Hanzo and Genji had brought over the chocolate fudge cake that Angela had baked, decadent and moist, slapping Jesse with a spoon when he came nearby. Lucio had made tacos al pastor for dinner, and Torbjorn had presented the cowboy with some imported brews, gifted from a friend with a distillery. He was drunk and grinning, loving all the attention, when finally Genji signaled that it was time for cake. The two Shimadas snuck up behind him to pull it over his head.

"Oh! Haha! Caaake! Thank you, Angela." He clapped his hands.

She nodded. "Bittescheon, Jesse."

He blew her a kiss, as Hanzo lit the flames of two candles, one a 2 and the other a question mark.

"Hahaha, very funny," Jesse said, nodding in approval.

Reinhardt started the song, and his voice boomed over the rest as they all sang 'Happy Birthday'. Even Jesse couldn't help muttering the words under his breath, adding 'to me!' when everyone else said 'to McCree...' and there was cheering and clapping. He blew them out, keeping his wish to himself, and there was laughter.

Hanzo tapped on his shoulder, and Jesse looked up.

"Happy birthday, Yankee-san," he said, and when he opened his mouth to protest the inaccurate nickname, he scooped up a kiss.

It wasn't the longest or messiest or most longing or hungry kiss they'd ever had, and yet it was important. Hanzo stood, a hand touching his chin, and Jesse stared up at him.

 _You didn't have to do that,_ his eyes said.

 _I wanted to,_ Hanzo's smile answered.

It took a snap of light and a snicker from Hana. "Oh, I am so posting that."

"Dude, you better send me a copy," Lucio answered.

"OMGOSH THEY'RE SO CUTE!" Mei squealed, and there was laughter.

Jesse was still blinking, stunned, when Reinhardt lifted his mug of ale. "To the happy couple."

"To the happy couple!" everyone agreed, and there was clinking of glasses.

Jesse stood, a faint smile on his lips, and watched as Hanzo cut the cake, serving the first to the man of the hour. As they both held the plate, eyes locking, Jesse leaned forward for another kiss, and Hanzo gave it to him, smiling.

"Hot damn, I think that beats your beer, Torbjorn, I'm sorry." There was laughter, especially from the Swede.

"None taken!" he replied.

"Best gift of the night. Knew he was holding out on me."

"Oh, you have another present," Hanzo assured.

Jesse wagged a finger, going pink. "I knew about that one."

Hanzo's eyes widened dramatically. "You knew about my jelly beans?"

Hana and Mei cheered, having also given him jelly beans.

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine, be that way." But when he got his new Rascal Flatts CD he whooped and gave another kiss, the sack of jelly beans towering over the ones the girls had given him. "I'm a happy man."

Hanzo took his time giving him the worship of a King that he deserved, and when morning came and he slipped out, he returned with breakfast in bed, a first.

"Holy shit, Hanzo," Jesse said, gawking at the spread. "You did all that?"

"No," he admitted. "The sticky buns were Lucio. The scramble Reinhardt... The coffee, too." There was an unspoken swelling of pride in his heart, a shy smile that he couldn't take off of his face.

Jesse took the tray from his lap, and then Hanzo's hands. "You didn't have to do that, Han. I know how important your privacy is to you."

"Pah. Everyone already knows," he said, waving it away. Truth be told, he was trying to tell himself that, trying to convince himself it was true. Part of him was still horrified he had done it so publicly. But... "Not a soul was surprised. Instead, they were delighted." He kissed his king's hands, even the metal one. "I was afraid they would gawk, but they do not."

It took everything in Hanzo's power to push him off and eat his breakfast before the eggs got cold. Both of them had the day off, and they could do that after.

For Halloween they painted sugar skulls for everyone. When McCree insisted on Thanksgiving (and really, who would argue against an excuse for a feast?) they spent the entire day trading dishes and kisses and Mei and Lena giggled over them at the counter.

McCree liked to misbehave when there were spectators. When Hanzo began to retaliate with gooses and kiss rejections, it turned into a game. McCree lost badly. But happily.

McCree stole them away to one of his safehouses in Atlanta for Christmas, presenting Hanzo with his own blue and gold and white 'Mexican blanket', and Hanzo had a kimono made for his king, in bright red with golden koi dancing over the cloth. They curled up on his couch and watched a Kaiju marathon on El Rey. When they got back, most of the gifts were for 'McCree & Hanzo', and not necessarily separate. The biggest of which (literally) was that both of their rooms had been emptied and the locks changed and a new suite was waiting for them on a separate wing, with windows overlooking the bay and a King-sized bed for them to share. Hanzo waited until they were locked in the room alone before he cried.

"I do not understand this kindness," he whispered.

Jesse laughed, a gentle thing. "Yeah, you rarely do." There was a gentle kiss. "You'll learn that not everything is like it was back home. And even back home isn't like it was. The Family isn't here. Your new family likes you just the way you are. Lychee candy and boyfriend and all."

He made a face. "Bah. 'Boyfriend'. That sounds so trivial."

And his smile was mischievous. "Does, doesn't it?"

They kissed on New Year's, wearing matching red and gold. For Valentine's, McCree made steak with a red wine and a bouquet of roses, trite and traditional. For White Day, Hanzo made him a three-tiered bento of his favourites and homemade chili-chocolate truffles that Fareeha had helped him make by hand. For Hanzo's birthday, they went to Tokyo to see the cherry blossom festival.

Sitting together, hand in hand under the sakura, Hanzo grabbed Jesse suddenly, giving him an urgent kiss. And then... a ring.

When Jesse barked a laugh, his heart fell. Until Jesse reached in his own kimono to pull out his own red velvet box.

"I can't believe you beat me to it," the cowboy growled, but there was no venom in his words, eyes grinning as he presented his own.

Hanzo wore his band, etched with _'mi amor, mi corazon'_   inside a golden dragon roaring over the ring finger on his left hand, as was tradition, and Jesse wore his, inscribed with the Japanese character for 'love' and ' _anata_ ,' on his right, "because the left one don't count for shit". They took a grinning selfie under the sakura, thumbs up to the camera with their new rings, and sent it to Overwatch on their next safety check-in.

Mei noticed and asked. Ana Amari sent Jesse a seething text that he better not elope without inviting her to the wedding, and they both laughed under the blossoms rain. Jesse was still picking sakura petals out of their clothes for three weeks after they got home. It took Reinhardt a few days to catch the glint of gold on Jesse's hand and he nearly spit out his drink.

"Hoi!" he said, pointing. "You're wearing it wrong!"

Jesse grinned. "Don't know what yer on about, big man." As he pointedly scratched at his beard with that hand, letting it flash with smug pride.

"Oh, you..."

By dinner that night, everyone wanted to see them, and Hanzo blushed furiously under all the attention, excusing himself before dessert. Jesse followed him back to their room with cheesecake, and they stayed there the rest of the night.

Two weeks later (after a paycheck of course) Hanzo and Jesse walked into communal dinner and were greeted with engagement gifts, and Hanzo ran away to their room again. It didn't keep Mei and Hana and even Fareeha from tracking him down later in the week for their own gifts. Fareeha sent one from her mother, too, who was abroad at the time, and Hanzo opened the little book and blushed furiously, snapping it shut when he realized it was a copy of the _Kama Sutra_.

When he gave it to Jesse, he wouldn't stop howling for nearly 5 whole minutes.

In June, Lena and Jesse dragged Hanzo to his first Pride parade. She flew in Emily for the weekend and they all dressed in rainbows (with the exception of Hanzo, who wore his usual kimono, but it was accepted as vibrant enough to qualify. Especially with the rainbow hair ribbons Jesse had gifted him he couldn't say no to.

Having Jesse running around with an open shirt and that belt buckle and acting like a big ol' queen was almost too much for him, as well as the crowd, but it made his heart soar to see so many couples like them... To be able to hold hands and get cheery smiles and happy greetings. When Jesse teased him about getting a collar at one of the booths, Hanzo agreed... On the condition that Jesse wore it for the rest of the day. He shook his head, but agreed, and Hanzo took great pleasure in tugging him around into the evening.

There was drinking and dancing, and before the sunset, Hanzo's sleeves were wrapped around his waist, and more paint had been added to his skin by a passing party goer. They went to the after party, and they all got 'white girl wasted', as Jesse called it, and stumbled back to the watchpoint a mess of drunken giggles.

In their room, Hanzo face planted into the bed with a pleased groan.

"[I think I had too much fun...]" he murmured in Japanese.

"As if there's such a thing," Jesse replied, moving behind him, hands sliding over his legs, his ass, his back... Hanzo hummed, loving the touch. "Yer gonna get paint all over the sheets, sugar."

"They wash off," he murmured into the blankets.

"Ha ha ha! That's how I know yer drunk."

"Guilty as charged..." he answered, waving a finger.

When they came together, it started tender... Until Hanzo flipped them, rising over him.

"You wear the collar still," he teased. "That means it is dragon's turn to be on top."

Jesse chuckled. "If that's how you wanna play it."

The rule did not work in reverse. Jesse liked to tease at Hanzo's neck when he wore it (and really, he wore it far too loose on purpose), but it did not guarantee that the dragon wouldn't make him work for it. Jesse did not complain at all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are questioning or curious, I encourage you to take the plunge and find yourself. It will always take time, but I've made the decision to live out and proud (and pursuing a body image that I feel best suits myself) and although it isn't easy, it's worth it to feel so comfortable in your own skin. If you're in a small town that doesn't 'allow' you, remember that there are other options. Find a support group online (the internet is a terrifying, but also wonderful place!) and work your way out of there. I've seen lesbians leave glaring Louisiana for Chicago, a gay man that ran away with the circus before he could come out to his family, and didn't really come to grips with my own gender identity until I was in my 20s. There is always time, and please, don't hurt yourself or end your life. Each of us is given a gift, and you mustn't squander it or hide it from the world. The world is so much bigger than you can possibly imagine - there is endless potential out there, but know that sometimes it will mean doing something wild and catching a bus to San Francisco or New York or some other bigger mecca where 'unorthodox' lifestyles can better thrive. Be careful, be safe, surround yourself with people who love you for who you are, and don't let yourself be a statistic, please.
> 
> No matter if you're a bi bear or a genderfluid Ace or a gay-in-every-way scruffy nerf herder like me, you are beautiful. Find that perfect, ideal you, and be happy. Find the nearest gay pride events (it's June! They're everywhere!) and make contacts and find friends. Find people online you can talk to, who can educate you and encourage you and give you love and support. Some of us have been through hell, some of us have been disowned, some of us have had to cut off toxic family members, and it's not always pretty, but I'd rather live as me than pretend (poorly) to be someone else just to appease societal norms. I pray you don't have to do that, and that you will be one of the lucky ones where your family loves you and supports you in everything, but if you aren't, remember that there are those of us who have been there, and we are here for you if you need to talk. If you want to talk to me, I'm on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram and most anything else as @SmutWithPlot. Come say hi. I'll be a friend you can talk to in the dark hours. Just be prepared for tasteless jokes, I'm a twisted fuck. As if you couldn't already tell.
> 
> Now go out there and get your rainbow tutu and some body paint and be your glorious you.


End file.
